Charatale: A Prologue: Chapter 2
You wake up the next morning full of excitement. You turn off the alarm that woke you, having set it the night before for eleven o'clock, an hour before your mom was supposed to get back. Rolling out of bed and onto the floor, you jump up and don't bother getting dressed. You brush your teeth and grab an apple, and make your way to the bus stop in your blue and pink pajamas.
You almost trip in your excitement several times, but manage to catch yourself with your own momentum. You eventually reach the worn down bus stop, and hop onto the rusting bench. Even though technology's pretty advanced in the majority of the world, on this side of the mountain the land's been left practically untouched save for the few houses here and there.
The same could not be said of the city of Ebott, over the mountain cleverly named Mt. Ebott. According to your history books, it's always been one of the more advanced and bigger cities in the area. And with that comes it's drawbacks, such as much more violence and disappearances.
Your mom tries to hide it from you, but you're not deaf, and therefore you can listen to the news on the TV without any problem. And so you're learned that it's fairly common for people to go missing there. One story that really interested you was one from about a century ago, about a murder mystery that's gone unsolved to this day.
You're not all that interested in detective work, but you'd like to hear what really happened, some day. And what happened to the missing kid involved.
Coming out of your thoughts, you think for a moment. How long have you been sitting here? Long enough to get uncomfortably warm in the midday sun, it seems. You feel your wrist for your watch, of which the glass has been removed so that you could feel the hands and numbers for yourself.
Luckily it's only 11:45 ish, so there's no need to panic. Your mom said around twelve, right? So she's probably going to be right on time. You can't help but feel paranoid that she's late, even while common sense says that she's not.
Oh well! You'll have to distract yourself while you wait! You feel kind of embarrassed for setting your alarm this early, when you'd have an hour of just waiting before she got here.
...The apple! You can't believe you forgot about it in your excitement. It's in your left hand, the one the watch is on, so that explains why you didn't notice it earlier. You take a bite, and it tastes great. Apples always do, in your experience.
Sadly it's gone too soon. You toss it into the trash bin that hasn't been emptied in weeks. This would be a problem if you and your mom weren't the only ones who would ever use it. It's almost completely empty save for a scrap of paper or two from your mom.
Honestly, it's a wonder the bus even comes all the way out here. Sure, your mom has to call and ask the driver, but it's still pretty cool that they agree to do it.
...Or maybe it's the fact that your mom's bus card pays the driver extra. Yeah, you hate to admit it, but that's probably the only reason. You want to believe that they do it out of kindness, but…
Oh, well. Who wants to dwell on that when she could be here any minute!? You grin to yourself, and pay extra close attention to your soul sense, waiting anxiously to feel the quiet rumble of the bus.
...You check your watch. Your fingers are a little sticky from the sugary apple juice, but you feel that it's 12:05. You start bouncing your leg, your cheerful expression fading slowly into worry.
...12:15. You pull out your super-old-fashioned phone with actual buttons for numbers and call your mom. It rings… and rings… and rings… then stops. She didn't pick up. You call her again, with the same results.
But that makes sense, right? She's on the bus right now, which was probably delayed, and her phone's turned off. Or she doesn't have signal. Or it's in her pocket and she didn't notice. Or she forgot it in her hotel room. Or she was in the middle of another call. Or she was saving battery. Or she was almost here. Or-
You take a breath. You concentrate on your soul's pulse, but there's nothing out here except for you.
...It's 12:30 now. That's not that bad, right? She did say 'around 12', not 'at 12.' Still… It's probably really childish to be worried, right? You've got to stop being such a baby, and stop worrying!
It's not working.
At 1:30 the panicking really sets in. You start to wonder if she's even coming back at all. Er, you mean, of course she is! She's your mom, how could she not!? She'd never leave you, or… The bus must have been delayed, or broken down, that's all. You can calm down.
Actually, apparently you can't calm down. It's easier said than done. You pull up your legs close to your chest and take deep breaths. ...Still nothing. You call her again, to no avail.
At 3:00 you lay down on the bench and fall asleep.
You're not sure how long you sleep for, but a cool breeze wakes you up. Feeling your watch tells you it's around 6 at night.
You end up staying at the abandoned bus stop late into the next morning, waiting hopefully for your mom…
But nobody came.
The Year of 201X
Or, in human years, the Year of 2001
As I expected, the party is torture. My mother has a firm grip on my shoulder, but in an inconspicuous way as to not arouse suspicion.
"Look at dear Charles, isn't he just a doll?" A woman whispers to her friend as we walk by. I glare at the floor harder, but Mother smiles and turns to her.
"Yes, he's growing up quite well," She says. The woman looks at least a little self-conscious to have been caught staring, but she quickly covers it up with a smile. "Look at his sweater, he picked it out himself! He gets his fashion sense from me," She adds, her eyes daring them to disagree with her.
I cast a sideways look at my mother, remembering when she wasn't going to let me get the sweater. Amazing how her concern over her image can change her mind so easily. ...Not that this is even slightly unusual.
Ugh, I can't do this anymore. I tap my mother's arm a few times, until I get her attention, and then I point in the direction of the bathrooms. I don't really have to go, but I can't be around these people anymore.
She releases her grip on my shoulder and I slide away, and walk in the vague direction of the bathrooms. I take a turn, though, and make for the balcony. It's a nice night outside, even though it's raining pretty heavily.
The darkness the rain causes even though it's only early evening in the summertime makes the interior of the penthouse seem to have a warm glow. It's a nice effect, but I'd rather not be in there and have to deal with all of these stuck up rich people.
I step outside onto the balcony overlooking a 15-story drop. It's a nicer view than where I live, as it faces the mountain that gave this town it's name. Mt. Ebott. I've always liked that mountain, even after hearing all of the stories and legends about it. People say you shouldn't go near it, ever, because supposedly a 'great evil' lies under it. But I don't really believe that anything can ever be truly evil except for humanity. So unless there's a secret society of awful humans in that mountain, whatever the legends talk about can't be that bad.
I lean on the balcony railing and sigh, looking off into the distance. The rain is coming down fairly hard, but it's not unbearable yet. However my hair and clothes are fairly damp already. My mother is going to kill me when she realizes I've gotten my expensive clothes wet, but that feels like a small victory in my eyes.
...She doesn't like my eyes. They're a strange shade of brown, almost a red-ish color. They're strange, but of course around other people she talks about how 'unique and special' they are. My hair's almost the same color, but much more red, almost a dark orange.
I don't want to dwell on these things. I wish that I didn't have my thoughts constantly drifting to my mother, but for some reason I couldn't help it. It's weird that it was only her and not my father, but that's probably because my father doesn't think of me, either. Ever. So why should I think about him? The answer is I shouldn't. I shouldn't think about any of them. What's the point?
...Ah. Speak of the devil, and he shall appear. Or she, in this case. I hear the glass door slide open behind me, and smell the sudden scent of cigarettes.
"Darling," A slurred voice says. I don't move, leaning on the railing with my shoulders hunched by my ears. She sighs. "You're getting your clothes wet. Come inside at once."
I cast a glare over my shoulder, making it clear that I'm refusing to follow her orders tonight. Water drips into my face from my hair. It's completely soaked by now. It's cold, but I'm past caring. Today's just like any other day, after all. Nothing abnormal here, just another party. If I hadn't been here I would have been in my room alone listening to my parents yelling about something trivial. So, really, this is only a slightly worse torture than a night at home.
"Charles, get in here, now." My mother demands. She's barely put a foot outside, preferring to stay under the awning where she's shielded from the rain. "Sweetie, don't disrespect me. People are staring."
See, I'd be okay with a mother who was concerned for my health, staying out in the rain. Maybe if she cared that I might get sick, then I'd like her. But no, she's concerned with her image, as always. And really I don't see why I'm the one who affects her image. What about my father? She's not ever concerned about him, although she probably should be. Maybe she's given up on him. I might have to ask him how he managed that. However that would require actually talking to the man, and that's a no.
"Charles." Her high heels tap closer on the concrete behind me, and I know that I'm actually in a bit of trouble, now. Especially if she's willing to risk getting wet. I slowly turn around to see her frowning angrily at me. "I am sick and tired of your attitude. You're going to therapy already, what else am I supposed to do!?" She says with frustration, pulling at her hair with one hand. She stumbles a little on her high heels.
I shrug, but I've started to revert to my more cautious mode. She can be pretty dangerous and irrational when she's drunk, stressed, and angry, and the fifteen story drop behind me is doing nothing to comfort me. There's only a three foot tall railing between me and a street full of cement and cars. And an angry drunk lady with a personal vendetta against me between me and the safety of the door.
"What do you mean you don't know!?" She snaps. I take a step back, my back hitting the railing. I start moving to the side, and to the wall that borders two sides of the balcony. That's safer, right? "Why couldn't I have gotten a normal boy? Why was I stuck with you? I've never done anything to deserve this!" She despairs. I can't tell if she's still talking to me. Either way, it's very rude. I frown, and avoid looking up from the ground.
The rain's starting to soak through her hair and clothes, now. She must be really mad to not notice or care about that. She can't ever look less than perfect, after all.
"I should have just dealt with you a long time ago." Apparently she's had much more to drink than you thought. Normally, she's always slightly tipsy. But this is full blown angry drunk. It's pretty rare to see her this way. It never ends well.
She takes a step forwards and reaches out to take a hold of my arm, and drag me back inside. At least, that's what I assume. She's not able to actually do it, because as she reaches I shove her.
I can't help it, I panicked. I was… scared. So I shoved her, pretty hard, and she toppled backwards. Over the railing, and down to the street below.
A/N: Sorry this ones a bit shorter and took longer, I kinda used up all motivation I had for this while writing the first chapter. But with this one, I felt really good leaving each section where it is.
I'd really really appreciate feedback! It fuels me and I really want to do everything I can to get better at writing. So any critiques you have, don't hold back!
Askblog: saltychara .tumblr .com
EDIT: Proofreading stuff.